


Rota Fortunae

by Saccharined



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, M/M, Tumblr Secret Santa, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saccharined/pseuds/Saccharined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a scientist from the year 2252 who clings to a 'lucky' old photograph for support, even in the darkest of times. When a laboratory accident sends his consciousness back to the year 2012, he finds himself face to face - and quickly falling in love with - the man in the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Tumblr Secret Santa [ revealed 12/24! ]](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Tumblr+Secret+Santa+%5B+revealed+12%2F24%21+%5D).



###  Prologue:

To my dearest, most treasured friend:

If you're reading this now, I'll assume the worst. I can't help but wonder at what exactly happened to my physical form - from your perspective. Did I supernova and disappear a violent flash of heat and light, or did I fade away quietly into thin air - like the shining particle of dust that floats it's gentle way into shadow? I guess I'll never know. No matter, that is not at all the purpose of this letter, and besides that there would be no way of informing me at this point. 

In any case, since it's likely that I'm returned to my own time, I feel confident enough in demanding that you worry little for my sake. It's the only thing I'll ever ask of you. Think on it, you'll realize I'm right. Ah - I'm picturing now the frustrated look on your face. I can see your drawn brows clearly in my mind, the deepening color of your hazel eyes. The vision brings a smile to my face. Actually, it turns out I've lied. I'm going to make another demand. I'm going to tell you to 'chill', as you like to say. It's the only sensible thing left to do, omitting the impossible. 

You have to live on, for my sake. I simply refuse to picture you doing otherwise. For me, in essence, to be the cause of your agony is not something that I can bear. Please believe that it was never my intention to harm you. Ha! - It was never my intention to meet you at all. But as fate would have it I became a disruption to your life, and somehow from this seed of irritation we became fast friends. Sometimes - more often of late - I ask myself "How could this possibly have happened?" But in the end, despite the fact that this whole situation defies the laws of logic and science on which I've wasted _years_ of my life, I'm glad it did. I'm really glad it did.

Did I ever tell you that I've had a copy of your photograph for as long as I can remember? I found it in the attic of my grandfather's old house, ancient monstrosity that it was. In a dusty leather trunk, tossed blindly in a corner, tucked into a slit in the fabric of the lid. For some reason I found it heartwarming, and carried it away from that darkened place. I felt, then and now, that it needed to be in the light - And, moreover, that I needed it close to me. Funny, that. But there's a reason for everything, I suppose ...

And now you're wondering, what exactly _is_ the purpose of this letter? I scold myself for rambling on, but I can't seem to help it. Even writing the words that I've been trying to say for the last four paragraphs - no, four _months_ , is extremely nerve-wracking. I've never- Ah. My hand is shaking.

I guess what I'm trying to tell you is, from the day we first met to today, and onward to the end of my life - although you may not understand or reciprocate it, although there's nothing I can do about it - I have loved and always will love you. 

To leave without telling you - without hearing your reply - was my one selfishness. And for that, I am truly sorry.

Forgive me.

 

Yours, _always_.  
Marco Bott


	2. Wheels; Year 2252

###  Wheels; Year 2252

He wasn't even sure what it was for. He'd spent countless hours on calculations and calibrations, stressed and tired and buzzed on coffee. Shit, he'd _cried_ over this, and he'd only been a small part of what had made the ... _beast_ before him more than the impossible muddlings in the mind of his brilliant professor. On top of coursework, it had been a challenge. But they had called it an honor, and he had believed them. At first. Often lately he'd been referring to it in more _creative_ terms in the earliest hours. What could he say, even he had his limits.

It was a mass of machinery, engineered from the scrape of his lead on paper - barely concealed but for a faint white glow, undulating within the pristine white encasements that were becoming more and more popular in all things in the world these days. They were a retro fad, he'd heard, popular in the early 2000's. Hmn. The monster emitted a small, shrill whine as it accumulated power, the room somehow becoming more pristine as the scattered scientists stood awestruck at the controls. There was no military presence here - no one in uniform. This was a beta test, to gather data on the charging process. 

A little unnerved, Marco's crossed arms fell limp at his sides, two fingers slipping into the loose pocket of his lab coat and fiddling restlessly with the small photograph therein. A nervous habit. If he looked down, he would see the slightly yellowed corner of the picture, along with the top of the young man's head. Perhaps a smattering of black where the edge of the curling text could be read from the reverse. It bore only four characters, amounting to the year the photo was taken. Not much to go on. Despite his desperate search, the young man had never been able to determine the subject's identity. He did, however, know the curves of his face and the exact cut of his mussy brown hair - The way his green shirt sat on his somewhat tense shoulderblades and the gripping depth of those hazel eyes. How he'd studied that photo, over the years. They called it his obsession. His mother used to tease him, said he'd found his one true love. "Impossible," he'd reply, laughing off the intended insult, "The man is surely dead by now."

What if he wasn't? The question haunted him. In all honesty, Marco _did_ love the boy in the photo. How, exactly, he wasn't sure. But when he asked himself that critical question, he always came to the same conclusion. If the year on the print read 2252 instead of 2012, he would have been seeking him with every spare glance. He would have roamed the streets. He would have hired a private investigator. _Anything._

But none of that was relevant. They were separated by ages. He was dead, and that's all there was to it.

"STOP!! MR. SPRINGER! STOP IT, _QUICKLY!_ "

The professor's cry brought him back to reality, his accusing finger jabbed in the direction of one Connie Springer, whose job it was to stop the machine when the dial read fully charged. It was a simple button-push, but Marco knew that the other student was particularly forgetful. Besides that, wasn't he in food science? What was he even doing here? The room grew more crowded amidst the shouting and the whir of the machinery, and it was all he could do to keep to his station and not cross the room and push the obvious button with his own itching palm. But the professor’s other outstretched hand kept him still, five fingers extended in his direction in the universal signal for _STOP._

Springer was turned to the console now, arms moving wildly across numerous panels as he dug through his mind for a memory of the right button to push. His fingers stilled for a beat over a large red lever, then moved on to flit haltingly over a grouping of blinking buttons. Even from across the room, Marco could tell that he was totally stumped. His gaze flicked to his professor, beads of translucent sweat forming on his brow and rolling down the sides of his heavily-freckled face. 

“SPRINGER!”

Black pupils contracted on a field of brown as Springer shot a wild-eyed glance over his right shoulder. He saw the corners of his eyes slam shut as he spun round, long fingers curling around the red handle of the lever. The machine's inhuman cry tore carelessly through the otherwise silent room as the technicians looked on in horror. 

_No! Dont!_

" _STOP! YOU FOOL!_ " 

The professor's hand dropped as he turned. He was a smart man. It was all he could do to reach out in vain to stop the young fool from where he stood. His anchor raised, Marco surged foreword automatically, composure lost. He would cross the room and stop Connie himself - it would take less than a minute. He was sure he could get there before the lever was fully activated, and maybe prevent some of the impending damage. 

The machine's scream intensified as he drew near, and his world became a vision of white. There was a wind against him, pressing his coat against his chest and blowing his modest bangs back over his forehead. It was hard to keep his eyes open, and they watered as he progressed. He thought perhaps in his confusion he'd strayed closer to the machine than he'd intended, but those thoughts vanished just as suddenly as they'd come, as the gale ripped his feet from under him. There was a single moment where his entire reality consisted solely of the ringing in his ears. 

And then, black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The surest way to get in contact with me is through Tumblr (Mechanation).  
> As before, questions, comments, and other feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Have I mentioned that I've never written a longer fictional work before? I usually just RP aha.  
> This chapter is subject to revision, as I deeply dislike it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a preplanned beginning, middle, and end. Despite this, comments and suggestions for future chapters as well as what's happened already are greatly appreciated. I'm going to try to have this story completely finished by christmas for my secret santa, but in the event that it isn't done I apologize in advance.
> 
> You can find a 11-song soundtrack to accompany this piece on my 8tracks account (Mechanation), or by searching Rota Fortunae.
> 
> Also, feel free to repost a link to this anywhere as long as you don't try to take credit for it~


End file.
